Godhood XIV - Usurper [Honey Edition Turn 3]

... well, if you really promise not to screw everything up, then I...

Craft goes to say something, blinks, and there is definite surprise in his voice when he says I... guess I trust you.

Lord Rack. I want to make something cool. Hand me over some of that brew.

Suki no. This is a terrible idea. You'll just end up wasting all of our acts.

Your objections are noted.

This is going to be so awesome!

Nash-Marr gallops his way back to the pantheon, beaming for the first time.

"Did you call me, green one?"

Oh, only to complement your work so far. Most gods only use grasses to fill the space, not set the stage for tales.

Craft looks contemplative.

Hmm. Now, all it needs is a locus, a central point. I can at least begin preparations for that.

Craft floats over to Seriba. He comes to rest in one of the many plains, where the moon's glow is brightest. He picks up some of the Rhode, and rolls it, producing a small seed. He then travels to the coast, and repeats the process on the Sebright. He returns to his original location, and plants the seeds, one after the other.

Nothing Happens.

Craft has done... something. 4 Acts.

I'm pretty sure I'm the green one, Craft.

Kahtrak addresses the other god.

Yes, I did. I also complemented your grass, and asked if I could tweak the shoreline strain. I need some sort of exogenous behaviour-altering chemical for the herbivores there, and the grass would be the most obvious place to put it. Probably just in the pollen.

"Oh, mechanical one, I have seen you have sowed the seeds of nothing. I really hope they won't sprout into flowers of oblivion." He turned to the divine trio.

"Three One... ahem, The Three, what do you plan with the brew? What monumental tasks are you planning? Is this a sea of alcohol?"

Lord Rack had been enthusiastically inspecting the life and times of the Atrium, listening to the songs of Lygiswyrms and watching the hilarious interactions of the drunken science god's creatures. They were a most marvellous contribution. He had so gotten used to Bacardi's brass voice that it was no longer quite calling his attention.

A particular, small-horned Saraswati had been doing its hilarious, but endearing best to evade encounters with its own kind, and Lord Rack was tempted to intervene in its life and produce the Legend of Smallhorn- surely Mia would enjoy another story. As if on cue, her sister Suki's calm voice snapped him away from the mortal timeline, and what she said was delight to the god of creativity, especially coming from an old friend. (It was tempting to make the pun 'old flame', but she'd probably heard that one a thousand times.) "Wh- oho, most certainly, fair damsel! Verily I thought you would never ask." He spun around, and with a flourish of elaborate sleeve tricks, the glass gourd emerged from seemingly nowhere and ended up extended toward the fire goddess in a sweeping bow. "Tis just as if we hath returned to olden times!" He chimed to Mia, winking to she and Amelia with a sunny smile.

He chortled at Olmolm's musings. "Should a sea of alcohol results of our mesmerizing Suki's dance of the soul, it would brighten many of a certain drunken Bacardi's days!"

Thank you very much.
This is going to be nothing but a waste of power.
Relax and have some fun would you?

Suki swallowed the divine brew and tossed the bottle back to Lord Rack.

Oh. Remember when I drank that stuff?
Ink everywhere in as many bright clashing colors as the universe could handle. Yeah. I remember. Thought I was going to throw up.
HA HA! This feels awesome. OH! That's a good idea...there's a better one. Yes this will do nicely.

Suki began to flicker different colors as she shot straight through the sun and popped out the other side. As she emerged an enormous blue spot began to form. It was fire of a royal blue color.

It was an elegant beast of living fire that could roam freely throughout the sun. A solitary creature of such magnitude that when it decided to grace the surface of Esmeralda it could be seen from the planets and The Atrium. Hundreds of wings sprouted along its back. Four enormous legs with webbed feet were used to swim through the hot gasses of the sun.

Three eyes that could see through the fire of the green star to gaze upon the planets and The Atrium, each one an exotic color, Red, Silver, and Yellow. It supported six tails each topped with a strange trinket that seemed to match the gods present. One was tipped with a gourde, another a banner, another a scythe, another a book, another a gong, and the last was tipped with the skull of a predatory animal not native to this universe.

Oh. I don't have enough for everything I wanted to do.
Look at all that wasted power. For a giant fire monster. Hope your happy.
LET'S CALL HIM BUBBLES!
No. Let's call him Creamcake, destroyer of lives.

Suki and Mia look at Amelia.

What? I can't crack a joke once in a while?
...
...
Fuck you guys.
We're sorry it's just... we've never actually heard you try to tell a joke.
I'm going to call him... Sólbarn.

The blue sun beast Sólbarn is born. An entity of blue fire that will live for thousands of years- 8 Acts
Give Sólbarn sapience- 3 Acts

The God of Alcohol stared off to the horizons of the universe, lines of uncharacteristically intense thinking played across his obscured face. By Turn Three (whatever that was), the Gods of the universe had been divided into two separate places: one of the Atrium and one of Seriba. As far as he could tell, the division was natural in regards to the nature of some Gods.

However, as much as the division was natural, it was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, verily, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, incredibly, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, positively, very, very, very, very, very, very, very so much boring. Too much personal! Not enough friendliness! This was not a good Party. So Bacardi decided to liven things up a little. Bacardi decided it was time to execute his plan.

His wonderful collaborative plan.

"I SUPPOSE THE STARS OF OTHER UNIVERSES HAD BEEN ALIGNED TO A PARTICULAR POSITION. THE SUBATOMIC PARTICLES COALESCING WITH A SUFFICIENT AMOUNT OF ENERGY, IMBUED WITH A GOOD AMOUNT OF CERTAINTY TO MAKE AN APPROXIMATE GUESS: THE TIME IS RIGHT. RELATIVE, NON-LINEAR, AND OTHERWISE. THE TIME IS RIGHT AND I'LL BE DAMNED IF I DID NOT STRIKE THIS VERY GODDAMN MOMENT."

In defiance to all conventional gravity and her sister electromagnetism, Bacardi took off to the void of the universe. He took a claw to the fabric of the space-time continuum letting the dimensions warp like metal to a flame. Radiation smoke from the abyss he tore into (their smell like bitter ozone and death). Smoke that mingled with the steam-torch of the Water-God. Reality found this wound to be grievous - attempting to close the wound in which the Brass-Beast had made. But Bacardi was an expert surgeon. Or a killer. He opened seams where they formed, broke what existence tried to mend. If Bacardi's bedfellows saw into the hole he made - they would be horrified. What peeked back was nothing - not white nor spark nor shadow - nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Bacardi plunged his hands into the abyss. From nothing, he made something.

An ominous shadow creeped over the Atrium, causing the more cowardly Saraswati to flee away before the dark cast touched their hooves. The shadow spread to Seribia - causing the Ursine Beasts to howl. They howled because their instincts urge them to fear it. They howled because they wanted to scare the advancing shade away. They howled because they knew in their mediocre brains. They knew there was something up and oh there is something fucking up there.

It's a flying bar.

Well, more like a flying ship than a flying bar (not to be confused with flying bears, those are two completely different things), but still a bar nevertheless. The contraption was both parts terrifying and awe-inspiring - its architecture suggested some semblance of aerodynamics but mostly cannot decide whether it should go for steampunk or futurism. It was huge - humungous even. Giving it an actual length, width, and height would be ludicrously impossible for one, it was designed by a drunk person (cough cough) and drunk people (including Scientists) tend to not be good with variable, numerical and otherwise. Two, its not technically a ship at all but rather a new skin of reality, a new page of existence. In other words, it was what you would called a "plane." Well a "semi-plane." "Demi-plane?" Whatever.

You can go to the bar. After all, the bar is always open .However, if business is slow, hey what's wrong with spiriting away a bunch of people to the doors? Nothing wrong with a spot of drink. Oh ho ho. Accidental or intentional patrons will find the insides were as labyrinthine as intestines of a flayed animal - an increasingly complex maze of baroquely furbished rooms that seem to twist in every corner. It never seemed to run out of tables, lengths of counters, and drinks. And oh they had a lot of drinks, lists of every possible but incredible (not out of this world but OUT OF THIS REALITY) drinks of the multiverse gestalt. And why you should try their special. Their special is great, makes you open your mind to their secrets. The Bar is pretty transparent. They love secrets. It's not like they have nothing to hide...

Look up to the counters. Between a bottle of vodka and a bottle of whiskey. There is he, Bacardi Clear - immortal yet immortalized in a meticulous oil-painting portraits. The painting is nestled in a fairly ornate but fairly underwhelming frame that was painted to be antiquated. Oh sir or madam. That is Bacardi Clear, brave enough to show his face in these parts. God of Alcohol, Water, and Science and God bless him! You can trust him. You can trust his face. After all, he's got nothing to hide. Nothing to hide.

At all.

(-3) BiDO has been created! It is a sort of semi-plane that is built like a horrible threeway between a ferry island, a ship, and a goddamn nice bar. It can randomly transport objects (and animals and plants and things) between different places (that is Atrium and Seriba) - although that does not guarantee their safety (or lives) if they get accidentally transported to Not-Home.
(-1) Did I mention it has a really goddamn nice bar? Did I mention it has a really goddamn nice bar that never runs out of booze?
(-1) A special alcohol called "Water of InBREWnity" can be served within its bars. It gives the imbiber knowledge in brewmaking and other alcohol related stuff. Also it makes the imbiber shitfaced.
(-1) It has a semblance of intelligence and loyalty to Bacardi Clear within its abominable circuits. Therefore, it has an autopilot and an autobooze function so traveling is safe and the water never runs out (or FUNS out).

Craft is speechless.

Literally.

Speechless.

He doesn't know where to even begin to point out the flaws here.

"IT'S AWESOME, ISN'T IT?" Bacardi bellowed to the shorter Craft.

"BUT WAIT TILL YOU SEE HOW MANY LEVELS OF THE KARDASHEV SCALE IT HAS BROKEN!"

Kardashev? But that's... you can't...

Craft just stares.

Okay, first question. Why, when there's only one species with any intelligence and even that one has never touched alcohol before would you introduce an Omnibar?

Two, how the hell *click* does this unite our work? There's only one planet with a species that could possibly master cups at this point!

Three *whirr*, they don't have anything to ferment yet, or ferment with, what's the use of teaching them how to?!

Olmolm looked at the oceans, and found it to be devoid of treasure. One day, when the creatures will exhaust the treasures of the crust, they might need to find a new source of treasures.

Ventfishes live on the bottoms of the sea, near, well, vents. They are quite numerous and diverse in colours. [-2 acts]
At the end of their lifespan, they turn into colourful pearls , that slowly float towards the surface of the water, and drift in the ocean [-2 acts]

He frowns. Oh dear, some of them got into the bar... planet... island...

Bacardi would had answered Craft, except he was too busy BEING DISTRACTED BY THE PRETTY LITTLE FISHIES.

"OOOOO AAAAHHHH OOOOOOOOO," Bacardi squealed with delight as a neon green ventfish gave up the ghost and turned into a neon green pearl. "OOOOOOO AAAAAAAHH OOOOOOOO."

Kahtrak sees fish, and an opportunity. He has grown tired of trying to get a solid response from Nash-Marr, and decides to just try and be subtle about it.

He makes a minor, non-obvious modifications to most of the shoreline strain of grass on Seriba. The pollen given off by the grass alters the behavior of wolperams and alternative marmots that breathe it in. They become slothful, losing their motivation to dig burrows, and living/frolicing amongst the blades. Other creatures merely find the smell unpleasa-

Right, romantic...

Other creatures are unaffected, except for boledroms, which find the smell of the pollen unpleasant, and generally avoid it.

Kahtrak mutters to himself.

Because I really don't want to try and teach boledroms to swim.

He is thoughtful for a bit, and then makes the seeds of the plant just a tiny bit more heat resistant, while he is tweaking things.

1 act to modify sebright with behavioral pollen.

Nash-Marr gives Kahtrak a dubious look once the god finishes his grass-fiddling.

"Was that all?"

He scrutinises the fields of Sebright again, trying to figure out what the big deal was, but has a follow-up question.

"Do councils such as ourselves have laws, green one? If you must ask me to change the grass, should I not have asked of the one who made the planet? Where does ownership stop and start? Should I ask every time? Or would that be tiresome for everyone?"

Generally, there are no real rules unless specified, but it is considered polite to ask before changing any specific creations. Messing with somebody's creations without permission will quickly gain you ire and disrepute.

Planets and stars, particularly the first of each, are generally considered free game to anyone interested in them. So if you want to build one privately, announce it to the others. I have no problems with anybody here building on Seriba, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind those who build on Coronis, either.

However, any dimensional, plane-based, or spiritual manipulation should always be communicated clearly and effectively to all other gods. It is a delicate affair, and it is not to be taken lightly.

Well, somebody's clearly a little bitter about BiDO.

Yes, I choose to care about such things, when I can. Or I suppose it's more accurate to say I always have. But not everygod does. Laws are for mortals, not our kind.

---

Kahtrak drifts off towards the sun, and the birthday party of a vast beast.

Impressive, is that some sort of angel?

He waves his hand in front of its eyes, trying to deduce what plane of existence it rests on.

Oh, it's one of our mortals. We shall all have to make sure we raise it well, won't we?

Anyway, Suki, I've made something for you.

Kahtrak returns to Seriba, apparently expecting at least one particular spirit to follow.

Bacardi dumps a giant keg of beer on Craft.

Oh? Really? That's new. I'm not used to receiving gifts. Now it appears I have two while this universe is still young.

Suki follows Kahtrak with Mia close behind. Amelia is busy staring at what she still considers to be an enormous waste of acts, her copper brow furrowed.

Bacardi trails behind, like a bad hangover that will never go away.

Craft would follow, except the keg dumped on him has engulfed him completely. Faint gurgling noises can be heard from within.

Nash-Marr nods, lessons absorbed. He waits for an awkward moment for Craft to extricate himself from the barrel, then deigns to assist.

"I had a question of you, then, as a courtesy. A request, even."

Pzzt

By the time the Mantis god is successfully extracted, the barrel is half-empty. It appears Craft's been trying to drink his way out, or possibly just attempting to breathe beer.

He's positively sloshing with the booze, right now. His transparent body is tinted a darker colour because of it, and a few visible gears are floating around his insides. His gaze is slightly unfocused, and occasionally the eyes change colour for a moment. His few movements are very slow and EXTREMELY careful, punctuated only by the occasional jerk of gears clamping together - his equivalent of a hiccup. Beer is even dripping and leaking out of his joints.

It's safe to say this god is fucking hammered.

Iz yougonna do the fike *CLANK* the shke *CLANK* watever you were gonna do bfore, kahtrik?

He turns to face Nash-Marr, and is puzzled to find him not there. It takes him a second to figure out he's gone the wrong way.

Wuza *CLANK* Wazzarequest?